He opened the drawer. He closed the drawer. He opened the drawer. He closed the drawer. Spike sighed. He had forgotten how...uncomfortable it could be, being left alone with his own thoughts. A wide variety of substances had kept his mind occupied over the last several years, then he was more than a little absorbed in the complexities of his relationship with Dru up until a couple of days ago. That was the first time he felt alone with his thoughts...right after he barreled out of his and Dru's apartment during the middle of her deep-throating Angel's cock like a professional porn star. And what's the first thing he does when the wheels start turning? He gets drunk and looks to score some...anything.
Spike opened the dresser drawer and stared at the little baggie of blow. What an idiot he was the other morning. He takes out his wallet and his smokes then hands the pretentious rich bint a pair of pants with an illicit substance in the pocket. It's almost like he wanted her to call the cops on him. And she would have. The question is—would she now? He didn't want to analyze it. He really, really didn't want to analyze it...but dammit, the wheels just wouldn't stop turning. Something happened when he was buried inside that little rich girl, probably before then. He closed the dresser drawer. He opened the dresser drawer.
He couldn't stop himself from thinking about her, particularly about where she was right at that moment. He knew he had no right to expect her to be forthcoming with him about her social plans, but it irked him all the same. He had this sick feeling he knew who she was with. Why a beautiful, clever young woman like herself would be wasting her time on that worthless sod would forever be a mystery to him. He closed the drawer.
What was going on with him? He shouldn't be thinking like this. He just lost Dru. Granted, he had a feeling that the majority of their relationship was nothing more than a clever facade on her part. Either way, he was just setting himself up. Allowing all these feelings to creep in...and for a snob who think he's a homeless druggie. He really needed to keep reminding himself of that. Maybe he'd lost his mind. Maybe all those years of hard-living had finally caught up to him. Either way, it was time for a smoke. He walked over to the small table next to the bed and plucked a cigarette from his pack. Pocketing his lighter, he started to leave the room...and stopped. He opened the dresser drawer. He let out a long breath before grabbing the little bag and shoving it in his back pocket. Wouldn't do to have the maid stumble upon it while I'm out for a smoke.
Buffy was on the longest cab ride of her life. Okay, well, not really. That probably would've been when she was seventeen and she and Faith cabbed it to LA for a New Kids on the Block reunion concert. It was more an act of rebellion than any actual desire to see the concert itself. Buffy spent the majority of the concert searching for Faith in the stadium before finally locating her engaged in some questionable activity with a shady-looking fellow twice her age in the men's handicapped restroom. Faith always had a way of getting herself into the most unfortunate situations.
Sighing, Buffy watched the trees fly by as the cab neared her family's private drive. After running out on Riley at the restaurant, she had run directly into a coffee shop around the corner and called a taxi to pick her up. She had to get as far away from that asshole as possible.
Harmony. Of all the girls he could cheat on her with, he had to choose Harmony. She sort of felt sorry for the girl. She clearly believed Riley was in love with her. And now she was in for some real pain, because as soon as Faith got wind of this, Harmony didn't stand a chance. Faith had only been staying with her and Cordelia for a couple of weeks. Guess that honeymoon's about to be over.
"Pull over here," Buffy instructed the driver when they were about halfway up the long private drive. She figured it would be better if the cab didn't pull up to the house. At least, there would be a chance she wouldn't have to answer any questions tonight. The driver pulled over and dropped Buffy off, using the small guest house road as a turnaround. She was thankful she'd thought to tuck some cash in her purse alongside her credit cards.
As she stood on the driveway in her blue dress and her little black heels, she felt tears begin to prick her eyes. Oh my god. I'm not going to cry over that bastard now. She took a deep breath and started her march up to the house. The mostly full moon was the only light provided.
"You all right, luv."
"Oh my god!" Buffy gasped, clutching her chest. "Spike! You scared me! What are you doing hiding out here in the dark?"
He stepped away from the tree-line. "Not hiding, pet. Just having a smoke." He waived his hand at her body. "Seem a little over-dressed for a late night stroll. Why didn't you have the taxi drop you at the house?"
She shook her head. "Really don't want to talk about it right now, Spike...or ever." She started heading towards the house once more. Spike quickly stubbed out his cigarette on the driveway and trailed after her.
"Now, wait a minute, pet. Something is obviously wrong. Might help to talk about it."
She stopped so abruptly, he almost ran into her. She turned to him and narrowed her eyes. "And why would I talk to you?"
He paused for a moment. "Well, sometimes it helps to get the perspective of someone who's not involved in the situation."
She crossed her arms, "Well, who said you weren't involved?"
"Am I," Spike asked eagerly.
"No!" Buffy rolled her eyes. "And you're going to stay uninvolved." She started to turn away when he grabbed her arms forcing her to stay put. Her breath hitched. Dammit, Buffy. You were fine until he touched you.
"Let go of me, Spike." She was amazed that she was able to keep her voice steady.
He continued gripping her bare upper arms. "Were you out with that selfish git? You're better than him, Buffy. Don't you know that?"
"Spike," she breathed, "why are you doing this?"
"I just—I just don't want you to get hurt anymore." He loosened his grip on her arms and gently caressed her skin with his thumbs.
Buffy shook her head, "I really don't get you." She met his eyes. "Not that it's any of your business, but I ended things with Riley tonight...for good this time."
Spike blinked as he processed this new bit of information. "No more of that bloody pillock?"
Buffy rolled her eyes, "Yes, no more of that bloody pill—mmmfff!" Buffy's eyes went wide as Spike's lips crashed against her own. He gently coaxed her mouth open farther until he was able to slip his tongue inside. He slid his arms around her back to hold her tightly to his chest.
Buffy knew she should protest. She could blame once on temporary insanity—but twice, it was starting to look like a pattern. But still...his lips felt so good sliding against her own, nothing like Riley's messy devouring kisses. Soon she found her arms wrapped around his body, pulling him closer, when she knew she should be pushing him away.
Spike groaned when he felt Buffy's little hands on his back, pressing him into her. She had to feel him—hot, hard, and ready—through his jeans and the thin silk of her dress. Those hands were driving him wild as they began to move over his back, his hips, his ass. He kissed her harder as he felt her willingly caressing his body.
Almost as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. Spike felt her still then start to pull away from him. Figuring it would be best, he allowed her to move from his embrace. He drew in a sharp breath as she brought in her arms from behind his back. Held loosely in her hand was a little baggie of pure, white powder.
Spike met her eyes.
Bloody hell.